


an expression of love.

by shariling



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Bottom Richie, Dirty Talk, Dom Eddie, Face-Fucking, M/M, Rough Sex, Shoe Kink, dick stepping, sugar daddy richie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26076292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shariling/pseuds/shariling
Summary: “Fuck you.”“I wish you would.”It’s teasing enough banter between them, but Eddie still jabs his fingers a little irately into Richie’s side, taking no shortage of joy from the whine of displeasure he receives for all his effort. Recoiling, Richie lifts up a hand to his gut like he just got stabbed, and Eddie takes the chance to remove himself from his grip, picking up the boxes with an angry look on his face.“Sit.”Despite his mouthiness, Richie is always pretty good at following demands from Eddie — at all times, but especially when he’s irritated. Plopping back on the sofa, he still wears a fox like smile on the cocky curve of his mouth, arm extended on the back of the sofa like he expects Eddie to fit right into his side. Eddie raises a brow, and tuts his tongue.“Good boy.” The word usage has Richie swallowing dryly, the smile going from coy, to suspicious. Eddie carries on. “I’m getting changed. Move and you’ll regret it.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 144





	an expression of love.

**Author's Note:**

> this work is based off the art of twitter user @cytakigawa who, if you're into reddie you probably already know, but they do the most amazing reddie fanarts that make my heart very happy. specifically this fic is based off [this art](https://twitter.com/cytakigawa/status/1247119726561693698)  
> which really spoke to me and was even one of the first reddie fanarts i ever saw, so please go give the artist a lot of love, they are fantastic!!
> 
> come say hi to me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/enjolyas)

Eddie pretends, because pretending has always been something he excels at — that lavish, rich shopping trips Richie takes him on are fine by him, because a compromise eventually had to be made. He could only handle a defeated look and hunched shoulders on Richie for so long, every starry eyed question of _these?_ or _what about this?_ and the tangible disappointment in the air when Eddie caught one good look at the price tag and broke out in hives. Shoes, shirts, slacks — all of it overpriced, luxury brand stuff. Eddie has never been an overly indulgent person and in fact generally lives a healthy, sometimes repressed, but mostly (nowadays) simple life. He’s never really owned _nice_ things, besides a fancy crystal his mother once bought him for wellness, or a good pair of running shoes he debated back and forth for about two months before dropping the seventy dollars it took to have them on his feet. 

If he thinks about it, that might be where this whole thing started from. It’s never been a surprise that Richie loves to spoil him, mostly in kisses and late mornings on the weekends, in defying love and law to fuck him harder and faster and longer every time they come together — but also in gifts, in little things. In the gross statue he found, of a grumpy looking toad at a thrift store that reminded him of Eddie, in matching mugs that read _World’s Best Grandpa_ and _Grandma_. Expensive brunches sometimes, that work because Eddie doesn’t know the price of anything until they’re already sitting down, sipping mimosas. 

Ultimately, Richie always feels the need to prove something — or it’s Eddie’s best guess as to why he was always trying to spend ridiculous amounts of money on him. Like love is written in a price tag, like bedroom talk and morning kisses don’t spell it out enough for Eddie, who’s never once doubted his feelings after the night under the Neibolt, when Richie’s hands held his guts together long enough to squeeze out rushed, ugly _I love yous_ as Eddie went under for either surgery or to greet death in the face. Never doubted, no, but still found his way back to Myra, in what would be the worst year in his life of very bad, no good years. In love with Richie, but incapable of leaving — if he’s so damn _brave_ , then why wasn’t he brave enough to follow him to California? 

Maybe it’s his fault, putting these sewn in doubts into Richie’s head, like he somehow wasn’t worth putting his entire life in the trash can and moving state to be with him. What he doesn’t realize is that Eddie was already living in the dumpster, that he’s cowardly to a horrible fault, that leaving Myra and breaking her heart was the hardest thing he’s ever done — but being with Richie, _loving_ him, is probably the easiest. He doesn’t know how guilt ridden and undeserving Eddie feels every day he gets to wake up and be happy, in the same way Eddie has no idea why Richie has some complex for making sure his love is inherently _known_ , as if it isn’t written in the fabric and nature of time, carved into a bridge 3,000 miles away, as if he hasn’t already proven it one thousand times over from well before they were old enough to know what any of it meant.

Really, he’s the one who should be proving something. Still, Eddie cracks a little, when he’s found ogling some shoes in the window of a lux store, not for running this time but for show. They’re leather, a plum color that wouldn’t match anything in his closet, with a black buckle tucked off to the side like a secret nod towards functionality. Beautiful, but outrageous, but caught on Eddie’s radar like a fishhook in his eye, keeping his gaze glued to it. Richie holds a slushie in one hand, and Eddie’s hand in the other, so he must feel the way a bead of sweat drips down his palm.

“Wanna try it on?” He asks. Eddie tells himself he has compromise on the mind when he nods his head _yes_.

—

Months later, and Eddie’s closet looks more and more like a graveyard for where too fancy clothes go to die, on account of that Eddie and Richie never really go to parties, and only rarely go to fitting events when it comes up in Richie’s work. Eddie’s boss’s birthday party at work is not exactly an event made for Versace and Hermès, but he can sometimes get away with an item or two on an otherwise uninteresting suit — and he also can’t deny the thrill of delight that tickles his belly when someone points out the silver ‘H’ on his shoes, and he can happily brag, _my boyfriend bought them for me._

It doesn’t escape him, the image they strike, Eddie in fine and fancy clothes even as they walk through the mall, and Richie dressed in shirts that look like the floor of an 80’s arcade that’s been upturned and pissed on. Button up a size too big, hair an inch overgrown, stubble from last week, worn brown jeans and Adidas slides — Eddie in a slick navy shirt, tucked into the waist of fitted pants, an expensive watch and expensive shoes, expensive haircut, expensive cologne. They stop by some favorite stores, and Eddie comes out of it with an entirely new outfit in hand, always enjoying the subtle look of shock on any clerk’s expression when it’s _Richie_ pulling out his credit card to swipe for Eddie’s new things. Richie happily carries the stuff to the car, three boxes stacked together that get bigger as they descend, all held together by two red, satin ribbons. 

At home, Richie sets them on the kitchen countertop for all of two seconds, before the icy look Eddie gives him has him moving them off to the coffee table in the living room. He doesn’t stop looking at him, watching keenly as Richie’s fingers trail over the smooth finish on the boxes, probably enamored by how nice even the packaging is.

“Why don’t you ever buy something nice for yourself?” He manages to ask, arms crossed over his chest while he watches him. Richie looks over his shoulder briefly, before looking back to the boxes.

“You look better in a tux,” Richie says with a shrug, and a wry smile on his face. “And I used to play with Barbies as a kid. Guess I never grew out of it.”

“So I’m your _Barbie_?”

“Yeah, maybe. Can I be Ken?”

“You look more like a Cabbage Patch Kid.”

They share a snort of laughter while Eddie crosses over some invisible threshold to meet him — Richie’s arms meet him instinctively around his shoulders, tugging him in. At his chest, Eddie pouts a little. 

“I _know_ that’s not just it. I wish you would spoil yourself, too.”

Richie huffs a little, definitely called out but not necessarily completely aware of his own feelings on the matter, either. One arm still around his shoulders, he reaches forward and tugs on the ribbon, until it comes unfurled. 

“Eh. I’m spoiled enough getting to see you dressed up, Barb.” He shrugs again. “Besides, I’m not completely empty handed. Check out this cool ribbon. I’m gonna make a fuckin’ belt out of this.”

“You say the dumbest shit,” Eddie responds with a shake of his head, patting his chest. He raises a brow at the ribbon as it slides through Richie’s fingers, shiny and soft, and feels an idea begin forming in his head. “It’s garbage, Rich, not a gift. Try again.”

“Why do they make the packaging so fucking fancy, then? Honestly. I feel guilty throwing these dumb boxes away. What if we ever have a box-based emergency? Like, kittens in the rain, or Eddie can’t reach the top shelf, or — “

“Fuck you.”

“I wish you would.”

It’s teasing enough banter between them, but Eddie still jabs his fingers a little irately into Richie’s side, taking no shortage of joy from the whine of displeasure he receives for all his effort. Recoiling, Richie lifts up a hand to his gut like he just got stabbed, and Eddie takes the chance to remove himself from his grip, picking up the boxes with an angry look on his face.

“Sit.”

Despite his mouthiness, Richie is always pretty good at following demands from Eddie — at all times, but especially when he’s irritated. Plopping back on the sofa, he still wears a fox like smile on the cocky curve of his mouth, arm extended on the back of the sofa like he expects Eddie to fit right into his side. Eddie raises a brow, and tuts his tongue.

“Good boy.” The word usage has Richie swallowing dryly, the smile going from coy, to suspicious. Eddie carries on. “I’m getting changed. Move and you’ll regret it.”

And then the smile is gone entirely, replaced instead by a starry eyed kind of wonderment that has Richie nodding, politely moving his hands to lay flat on his thighs. Eddie doesn’t spare another glance before he turns to their bedroom to get dressed, taking an unnecessary amount of time to make sure everything is perfect in how it settles on him and his sharp hips, his bony ankles, the tall heights of his shoulders which only seem broad from however many years he spent penting up tension in his overworked muscles. He looks wealthy in a suit — something that fits him like a glove, showing off his angles, how lean he is, how powerful he can look in something that’s likely not to ever leave his closet. The guy in his mirror is the same one who used to avoid cracks in the sidewalk because he loved his mother so much, and _now_? 

He looks like a fucking billionaire with a coke addiction, dressed in an eggplant and navy pinstripe suit, the top buttons of a sky blue shirt undone because it helps him feel like he’s falling into a role — dressing up, playing a part. He looks confident, and moreover he looks _good_ , dressed in something he would probably never ordinarily wear, but.

If Richie wants to play femdom Barbie, then Eddie’s going to peg the shit out of his Ken. Anything to prove a point.

It’s unsurprising to see Richie left in the same position Eddie abandoned him in a few minutes prior, but he still likes the tremble of warmth that echoes in the cavity of a chest he thought was long empty, until Richie came back into his life. Stepping in, Eddie leans against the wall, hands tucked into his pockets like he’s on the cover of some editorial magazine. Richie looks at him with wide, almost angelic eyes, but Eddie shakes his head.

“Eyes forward.”

And it’s one of the roughest things he could ask from Richie, to _not_ look at him, but after a wincing second he draws his eyes sluggishly away, locking instead on the blank TV in front of him. Pleased, Eddie moves forward and beside him, reaching his hand into Richie’s line of view and giving him a gesture _up_. Too quickly, he stands, and Eddie lets out a warm chuckle before turning him around, pulling Richie’s arms to the small of his back. 

They’ve always been a little on the kinky side, now that they have the means and drive to explore that half of themselves — so when Eddie collects the forgotten ribbon off the table, it’s with some confidence that he can make an effective restraint. Luckily, the fancy store splurged on their fancy ribbon, so it’s sturdy in Eddie’s hands as he winds the red around Richie’s wrists, tying it into an artful little bow. Pulling out his phone, the shudder makes a deafening sound as Eddie snaps a picture of it, stretching his arms through the windows of Richie’s to show off his work.

“I’d prefer unwrapping this present.” Eddie says this, pressing a warm kiss to the back of Richie’s shoulder. Richie lets out a breath that’s half a laugh, turning his head to try and get a look at Eddie’s face.

“You love me more than clothes?”

“I do, though I don’t know why, when you’re so fucking _bad_ at following instructions.”

He moves his hand to force Richie’s gaze away, strong fingers gripped on his jaw to push his eyes forward again. Richie lets out a groan while Eddie pulls back, dropping down into the seat behind him, legs spread a little too wide. 

“Are you gonna be good?”

Breathlessly, “Yep.”

“Good. C’mere, sit in front of me.”

Given permission, Richie turns and takes a seat cross legged in front of him, a little gracelessly without the use of his hands, but he still manages it. The instruction _eyes forward_ means his eyes are now level with the tenting rise of Eddie’s crotch, which makes him swallow audibly in the quiet peace of their house, and has Eddie grinning wolfishly, wildly. Not skipping a beat, he undoes the front of his slacks, sliding a hand into his underwear to palm the burning heat of his cock, feeling it thicken in his hand. Richie looks almost distressed by it, whining high in his throat, instinctively leaning forward to _suck_.

Eddie stops him though, pressing his foot to the center of his chest — the rubber sole of a white leather shoe digging in a little too roughly into him. He gives him a gentle kick backwards, not enough to knock him off balance but just to keep him partially at bay, letting his foot stay rested against him as a knowing force to stay back.

“Wanna suck me off?” His voice is already breathier, hand wrapped in a fist around his cock while he pumps, not slow or teasing or kind. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Richie hisses it, chest heaving under where Eddie has him pinned. “Yes, _fuck_ , yes, Eddie, I’ll do anything, any fucking thing.”

“Prove it.” Lifting his foot, Eddie taps the toe of it on the jut of Richie’s chin. “Start from the bottom, work your way up.”

It’s probably not surprisingly how unabashedly Richie licks the bottom of his shoe, but Eddie gasps at the immediacy of it anyway, sucking on his top lip while he watches Richie go for it. He hasn’t worn the shoes outside yet, so there’s no real moment to worry about what he might’ve walked through, what dirt and germs there might be — and instead there’s only the feeling that even if he was wearing the most vile set of gym shoes the world has ever seen, Richie would probably still lap at them with the same amount of vigor, like a dog with a stick, overeager and hungry. Because Eddie told him to.

He must hear the way way Eddie’s breath catches because he keeps up with the pace he set, a wet tongue licking against the traction of his shoe until saliva drips down the heel in thick lines, pooling back onto the ground with a wet _plop_ on every drop. Richie goes for the heel, lightly dragging his teeth against the rubber like there’s any sensation to it, before eventually he wraps his mouth around the flat tip of his toe, sucking on it like Richie would his cock.

The visual has Eddie moaning again, needing to physically stop himself from speeding up his hand, so desperate is he to come just off the knowledge of what Richie would _do_ for him if he asked, like Richie’s heart is a bottomless ocean and Eddie only needs to reach in to pull the entire world back out. He narrows his eyes when he sees the wink of a pink tongue flicker out against his toe, tasting the leather with a sharp inhale that has Eddie moving his gaze between his legs, to see what he’ll find. The uncontrollable twitching of his hungry hips paints an even brighter picture than the thickness Eddie can see just beneath the surface of his pants, threatening to pop a button with how hard he is. 

By the time he nuzzles Eddie’s foot flatter in the air to get access to the top of his shoe, teeth biting against the laces while his tongue maps out the broguing near the eyelets, Eddie is already pressing his other foot to the front of Richie’s pants, digging a hard heel into his cock and moving it around in sharp, small circles. Richie balks, groaning as he rests his flushed forehead against Eddie’s ankle, whining at every move of his foot, louder and louder the closer a threatening heel gets to kicking him in the balls. Interesting stuff, Eddie figures, pressing just a little bit harder.

“You’re so cockhungry. Aren’t you?” Richie only whines in response, tilting his head to press open mouthed kisses against the bump of his ankle bone. “You’re a good boy, Richie. You’re perfect.”

Eddie isn’t completely sure when he learned to play Richie like all those video games he used to be obsessed with — but even as a kid, he had the Konami Code to his heart, finding it easy to get Richie to do whatever he wanted, as long as he laid it out right. An insult to make sure he was listening, then syrupy words from a sweet mouth to get his knees shaky, his inhibitions down. Richie won’t listen if you’re outright pleasant, if you give him time to think up jokes and nonchalant ways to shove a compliment into a liar’s box, ultimately deciding for himself that _good_ just isn’t in his vocabulary on ways to describe himself. It’s more like setting a trap, letting Richie come sniffling in towards a bit of roughness cheese, and then having his guts impaled by the honey-toned whisper of a compliment. 

All that to say that his eyes are glassy when they look back up to him, eyebrows knitted, mind lost at sea without the capability to bring logic to those words. Because — Richie isn’t sure what’s so perfect about sucking off a shoe, forgetting the fact that Eddie thinks he’s perfect when he spills beer on the sofa, and when he brushes crumbs onto the ground, and when he presses his fingers against every fucking nerve-ending Eddie has until he’s exploding in a fit of aggravation that somehow always ends in their laughter. Because he’s always perfect, because Eddie loves him blindly, in the dark, in a sewer, in the rain. Because kissing him sometimes feels like asthma and an inhaler in the same breath. 

Reaching forward, Eddie takes his hand off his cock to cup Richie’s cheek, bullying him somewhat to mouth along the inseam of his slacks — it works in parts, because his fingers still have the musty scent of his precome on them, and Richie can’t resist turning his head to lap at his fingers, hungry in every degree for however much of Eddie he can get his mouth on. Eddie encourages him, hooking his thumb against his cheek, watching as Richie’s mind splits between all the different directions he can go to worship Eddie, ending in some sloppy, blissful choice that lets his tongue sweep from mapping out Eddie’s thumb to tonguing at his inner knee, and back again. Arching his back, Richie manages not to get lost on his way towards Eddie’s inner thigh, sucking on the fabric of his pants with a curious look upwards. 

Looking for permission, or seeking some force. A good boy, Eddie marvels, eyes dark when they look at him. 

“Keep your eyes on me.”

Another difficult task, but Richie clenches his jaw and manages it, keeping his eyes locked on Eddie’s, even when he sees movement in his periphery, the rustle of cloth loud in his ears as Eddie takes his cock out of his pants. If his mouth had felt chapped or dry after the taste of leather numbed his lips, he now feels his mouth watering, as the sounds of Eddie stroking his cock just out of view make him hungry for something he can swallow, but can’t eat. 

Eddie feels all powerful, to be honest — he has a man before him who would do anything for him, listen to any instruction just because it came out of his mouth. He thinks about his image in the mirror and thinks maybe it’s more accurate than he gave it credit for. Richie with his cocaine obedience, making Eddie rich with love. If loving looks were quantifiable, with an exchange rate to dollar bills, this interaction alone would make him a billionaire, and then maybe _he_ could afford the suit he’s wearing.

Free hand reaching forward to the back of Richie’s skull, Eddie gives him a subtle push in, eating up the relieved sigh it earns him with a pleased grin, fingers tightening in his curls as he holds more control over just how far he arches in. Feeding it to him, Eddie presses his cockhead to Richie’s plush lower lip, rubbing it in a circle around his open mouth and feeling the way his breath hits the underside in a wave of satisfaction. Raising a brow, he pushes himself in.

“Suck.”

Among the easiest instructions he’s been given tonight, Richie doesn’t hesitate. So warmed up from sucking on his shoe, he already feels sloppy and loose with his tongue, winding around his cock like it’s a rapidly melting popsicle. Eddie has to stop himself from bucking outright into him, biting back the urge by wrapping his fingers tightly around the base of his cock, a pain keeping him grounded to the moment. 

“Like you were made to do it, Rich. You’re so fucking good. I always knew your mouth was good for something.” He feels Richie muffle out something on the mouthful of dick he has in his mouth, something along the lines of _you say that every time I blow you, get new material_ Eddie imagines, but he just slams his cock into the back of his throat in response, letting Richie choke on it. “Shut the fuck up, I said _suck_.”

It takes a moment of gagging, but eventually Richie finds some stable footing again, writhing himself up onto his knees, partly to get better access to Eddie’s cock and partly so he can force more pressure onto his own dick from Eddie’s foot. Interested, Eddie tests that pressure, digging his heel a little further into his balls, feeling the way Richie groans and shudders beneath him, like his body doesn’t know how to interpret pain from Eddie’s body as anything but pleasure — it reminds him of pinching Richie’s arm when he was a kid, elbowing his side. Any excuse to touch him, to see the shift in colors from peach to pink across his cheeks and wonder what all that meant.

He doesn’t have to wonder now, slamming his hips forward and forcing his cock well down Richie’s throat, seeing the pinpricks of lovely tears beading at the corners of his eyes, fogging up his glasses. 

“That’s it, baby. Take it,” Eddie coos, making a note not to let his thrusts get too rhythmic, enjoying the sputtering sound of him choking too much to have him get used to any pace. “You’re so good, like a dream, Richie. Take it all.”

And for Richie’s talent he does take it all. Even despite choking he never pulls himself away, as if being parted from Eddie’s cock is some sin he can’t fathom himself committing, like he’d rather die suffocating than die without Eddie’s dick in his mouth. A spidery crawl of arousal worms its way from Eddie’s neck to his cock, languid like pouring honey until it grips him hard at the root of his dick, and he has to Richie off of him before he ends up shooting all over his fucking glasses. And Richie, the fucker, _whines_ , because he’s been good and his treat is _still_ being taken away, but Eddie has bigger and better plans, so his effort is rewarded with a gentle slap on the cheek, Eddie leaning back on the sofa and letting out a sigh.

“That was close. Whew. I almost came in your mouth.”

“You — _should’ve._ ” Richie’s eyes seem giant, pleading, his mouth red and raw, voice crackled like burning wood. Eddie smiles at him, slaps him just a little harder, and bats at his nose when Richie tries to chases his fingers to bite at.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Eddie claims with a powerful voice, hand back to loosely pumping himself as a tease, for Richie more than anyone. “ _Hard_. And I’m gonna come inside you until you’re overflowing with it, and that’ll be my present for my horny little cockslut. Got it?”

Richie whimpers, licking his bottom lip. “Twinkie treatment. It’s probably Christmas somewhere. Got it.”

“Good. Scoot around, ass up.”

It takes a little effort without the use of his hands, but clumsily, Richie manages. There’s a rug just under the coffee table that he sinks his cheek into, but otherwise is cursed to the hardwood floors, knees already likely achy with it. Eddie appreciates the view for a few blissful seconds, pressing his foot back against Richie’s ass, settling over where he knows a pink, bashful hole is just waiting for him and giving him a little kick there, rocking his ass back and forth for Eddie’s pleasure, just in seeing how he fills out his old slacks. Eventually, he leans forward, reaching around Richie to undo the button of his pants, tugging them off along with his underwear, one leg at a time. 

“Maybe this is why you never buy yourself any nice clothes,” Eddie hums, settling on his knees behind Richie, hands palming his ass. “You already know you look best with them off. So fucking _pretty_ , baby.”

“ _Eds_ , c’mon, stop — “

“You better learn how to take a compliment. My dick is the best compliment you could get, don’t you think? And if you can’t take _that_ — ”

“Your jokes are so hard to follow, please, my last brain cell committed suicide when you kicked me in the nuts, I am basically braindead right now. Just fuck me.”

Eddie scoffs, collecting a bottle of lube from his pocket that he nabbed earlier. He splurts it out cold on Richie’s fluttering hole, watching him shudder in surprise by the sensation.

“Say please again.” His voice is back to being sticky and sweet again, hot honey as he presses his fingers to Richie’s hole, loosely sliding his fingertips in, two at once. “Let me hear it.”

“ _Please_ , Eddie, god, fucking — anything, anything you want. Do anything to me.”

“I will.” The mischievous smile is almost audible in his voice, while he slides a finger down to the hilt inside him. Richie keens like a cat with an expert scratch, back arched deep enough that his ass seems bigger, a happier handful for Eddie to take and squeeze and pull, spreading his cheeks for a better look at his hole. He flexes around him, decidedly starved and greedy, already begging for another like _one_ finger just isn’t good enough. Almost snarling, Eddie presses a second finger alongside, hooking them in his inner walls until Richie is audibly gasping against the floor, hips winding in circles to get him deeper, further, _fuller_. Winding up, Eddie slaps his hand loudly on his ass with a resounding _crack_ , rubbing the red skin gently after, as Richie shudders through the aftershocks.

“You’re so _needy_ ,” humming, he pours more lube onto his fingers, welcoming Richie’s hole again with three penetrating him. Richie moans, loudly. “I’m always going to take care of you. Don’t you know that? You’re a gremlin, but I love the shit out of you.”

“ _Eddie —_ ” His voice cracks and Eddie can tell he’s crying, from the stress of his voice alone. Bending, Eddie presses a kiss on his ass, fingering him until his body gives way enough for more. “P-please, Eds, I can’t —”

“I love you, you have to deal with it. I love you so much.” He lets out a loose chuckle, doting kisses on his bound hands and up his spine, as far as he can reach. “And it tests me every fucking day, but it’s true, damnit. I love you even when you’re being obnoxious, and when you’re being an asshole, and when you spoil me because you think that you need to, even though you don’t.”

Satisfied, he lines up his cock at Richie’s hole, feeling the pucker flex against him as he pushes in, bottoming out in one fell swoop. He leans over Richie’s back to kiss at his shoulders, nosing against him.

“I didn’t stay for the money, or because you have a huge dick.” He presses a grin to Richie’s neck. “Those’re just perks of chance. I’m with you because you’re the only person on the planet I can be myself around, and I fucking love that about you. I love that you love me, is that messy? Or normal?”

“I’m — “ Richie shivers, groaning loudly as Eddie pulls back just to slam right back into him, sniffing loudly. “I’m glad you’d love me, even if I had a small dick.”

“I’d fucking worship your small dick.” 

Richie laughs, and Eddie loves the sound of it, grinning as he thrusts into him again, leaning off his back to sit up straighter, giving him to space needed to fuck him with a little more vigor, hot breaths meeting the stale air in response to every keening, high pitched sound Richie makes. One hand on Richie’s ass, Eddie’s other finds his hand at the small of his back and interlaces their fingers, swallowing a groan as he feels his breath start to give out, movements becoming more jerky as Richie’s cries reach a crescendo, a hungry, needy impasse.

“ _I’m_ — oh, _shit_ , Eds, please, I —” Shaking almost violently beneath him, Richie wails. “Touch me, touch me _please_ Eddie, need you —”

Not skipping a beat, Eddie drops their hold to reach around and grab Richie’s dick, attention drawn from humping him to stroking his cock, getting him off.

“Come for me,” he says hotly, sweat beading down his forehead from exertion. “You wanna come? Do it, Rich, let me see you.”

It doesn’t take much goading before Richie pours white on the floor of their living room, body contorting in all funny ways as he rides through it, and Eddies fucks him well into overstimulation territory, listening to his moans turn to mewls. It doesn’t take long after that for Eddie to dump his load off into him, sliding in as deep as he can with one final thrust before burying his come so deep into Richie, he’s sure he can feel his cock poking at the back of his throat, coming all throughout his insides. He makes good on his promise of filling him up once he pulls his cock out, seeing the budding rise of pearly jizz elk out of him, hitting the floor below. And on Eddie’s very expensive, very luxury brand pants. Ah.

Swiftly he undoes the tie on Richie’s wrists, watching his entire body dissolve into jelly beneath his touch, crumpled onto the floor. Eddie takes a lay down beside him, a hand in Richie’s hair tugging him in to lay on his chest, one hand collecting one of Richie’s and pulling it up to kiss the red, raw skin. 

“You’re so good to me,” Eddie murmurs, kissing all his fingers, his hand, his wrist. “I’m so happy when I’m with you. What a champ, huh? I bet your knees are killing you, you did so good.”

Richie grumbles for a second, keeping his face hidden while he comes down. Eventually, he pulls back, faces still red and eyes still puffy with tears, but there’s a soft smile on his face as he leans in, pressing a kiss on Eddie’s mouth.

“You’re a fucking monster, assaulting me with cute things while you’ve got your doming, kinky clothes on.” Eddie laughs softly, rubbing away at Richie’s eyelashes, pulling him in and moving his glasses away so he can kiss at his eyes.

“These are kinky clothes? I thought it was a suit.”

“Well it’s kinky _now_. I’m never not going to associate this suit with my raging, furious boner.”

“Huh.”

Eddie tilts his head to the side, thinking he might’ve just come up with a use for all his fancy clothes after all.


End file.
